


Keep What You Steal

by KivaEmber



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bodyswap, Complicated Relationships, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Identity Issues, Identity Swap, M/M, New Game Plus, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: This didn’t make sense. They were supposed to return to their reality with the collapse of Maruki’s Palace, not- nottravel back in time andland in the wrong bodies.or;Both Akira and Akechi begin a New Game Plus, except whoever booted them back had very poor aim.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 81
Kudos: 627





	1. GORO I

Goro jerked awake to the crackling noise of a train’s intercom system. 

It was a rush of too many sensations at once - smell of public transport, muted chatter of the train’s occupants, the chafing of fabric against his skin and the dull ache that came from sitting down for too long. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurred and the intercom’s words jumbling untranslated in his skull. A train- why was he- 

He remembered Maruki’s Palace, crumbling, the frantic escape on the Monacopter and… falling, endlessly, and a terrified thought of _ah, this is it, i’m dead._

But he wasn’t dead. 

Was he?

Staring at a brightly coloured ad for noodle cups plastered on the train’s wall, Goro pinched himself. The pain was sharp and _real,_ and he released a shaky breath - then breathed in, finding a bizarre joy in feeling his ribs expand and his lungs fill up. He breathed out, heavily, until his lungs burned from the emptiness and he almost choked on it. This was proof he was alive - somehow. By some miracle. He wasn’t going to question it. 

He was going to question where he was though. Stomping down on the hysterical urge to giggle, the fizzing jubilation making his hands tremble, he glanced outside the window and-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Akira’s reflection stared back. 

* * *

The train’s bathroom was cramped, but it was wide enough for Goro to hunch over the sink, his bag resting on his feet, as he stared in mounting horror at _Akira’s_ face in the mirror. The glasses had been removed, tucked clumsily into the lapel of his Shujin blazer, and water dripped from his face - he kept washing it in the sink, in some crazed attempt to wipe this face clean and reveal his own underneath, but no. 

Sharp cheekbones, pale skin, the grey eyes with the thick eyelashes, and that curly bird’s nest Akira dared to call hair… it was his. It was Goro’s. _But this was not his body._

“No, no, nooooo…” he moaned, gripping his face and staring at his reflection. Akira’s mortified face stared back. He looked like he was going to be ill. Oh, god, he _was_ going to be ill. This had to be a nightmare. It had to be some fucked up fever dream before reality realised he was meant to be dead and snuffed him out of existence like a pitiful ant. There was no possible way that _this was_ **_fucking happening._ **

But he was breathing. He could feel his lungs expand and deflate. He could feel the bite of fingernails digging into his cheeks. Could feel the frantic hammering of his heart against his sternum. The nauseous rolling of his stomach. Too sharp and _real_ to be just a dream. He could feel the tickle of sweat beading his brow, reflected in the mirror as he grew paler and paler, his vision greying out a little as his breathing sounded too _loud,_ his lungs burning from his rapid breathing. 

This can’t be happening. _This can’t be happening._ **_This can’t be happening._ **

The world swirled like the moment where he stepped between the Metaverse and reality. A sickening swooping sensation low in his belly, being pulled in too many directions before you snapped into place - except he wasn’t going into the Metaverse, he was sitting down on the toilet and shoving his head in between his knees and gripping his ankles and quietly let his brain implode for a long moment filled only with static and his choking breaths. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It took him a while to resurface. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Once his… _fit_ was over, Goro sat up with his hands pressed against his mouth, breathing hard through his nose. He still felt sick, but he refused to succumb to the urge, glaring hard at the closed door of the toilet. There was a reminder to flush and wash his hands on it. 

“Okay,” he mumbled against his palm, “Okay. I can figure this out.” 

Shakily, he leaned over and dragged Akira’s - his, _whatever_ \- bag towards him, unzipping it. Inside there was a collection of: a guide to Tokyo, penciled directions to Sakura Sojiro’s house, a copy of his probation letter, two notebooks - one filled with old school notes, the other blank - and three paperbacks: _Arsene Lupin, Gentleman Burglar,_ _The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time,_ and _The Amber Spyglass._ All three were in English. 

“Fuck,” Goro said, because he recognised those three books, dog-eared as they were. This bag was definitely Akira’s.

No evidence of Mona, though. Briefly, Goro felt embarrassed at flipping out so quickly without establishing what train he was on and where he was going. The window outside had shown countryside, nothing like the urban view of Tokyo, and he began to get a bad feeling. Well, a _worse_ feeling, and he straightened up to reluctantly dig Akira’s phone out of his pocket. 

He turned on the screen, and uncomprehendingly stared at the date and time.

_13:25  
_ _9th April, 2016_

“No,” he said, locking the screen and unlocking it again, just to confirm. 

_13:25  
_ _9th April, 2016_

“No, no, no,” Goro groaned, curling his fingers into his hair and yanking, staring in open dismay at Akira’s phone. His hand was shaking, the fluorescent light above glinting off the screen but doing nothing to hide the damning date from view. April. _Ninth of April._

This didn’t make sense. They were supposed to return to their reality with the collapse of Maruki’s Palace, not- _not travel back in time and land_ **_in the wrong bodies._ **

Goro froze at that thought. 

He was in Akira’s body, so… did that mean Akira was in _his_?

His brain stalled over that thought. God, what if it wasn’t _Akira?_ Everyone had been crammed into Monacopter, escaping the collapsing Palace - what if it was Takamaki, or Sakamoto or- or _Kitagawa!?_

Goro’s eyes glazed over at the imagined horror of Kitagawa pretending to be him, and shuddered in a full-body lurch that almost had him sliding off the toilet. No, no no, not even the universe was that cruel. 

Worst case scenario that it was just Goro sent back. That he effectively _killed_ Akira by possessing his body- no, no, _do not think about that._

The urge to throw up returned with a vengeance. He swallowed the bile back down. 

“Okay,” he whispered, “Focus.”

Ninth of April. As this train was currently cutting through the countryside and Akira’s bag had freshly penciled directions to the Sakura residence, he could safely assume this was the day Akira arrived in Tokyo. There was a faint niggle in the back of his mind that something important relative to _him_ happened around this time too, but past the wrung out, anxious mess his brain had melted into, he couldn’t recall anything. 

_a hit, maybe?_ he mused, unlocking Akira’s phone with his thumbprint and boldly snooping through its contents, _yes, i think i did a high-profile shutdown…_

Akira’s phone was depressingly bland. The screen background was a tasteful photograph of a tabby cat lying amongst green grass and dandelions, and the gallery was of similar photos: cats, cats, dogs, cats, flowers, cats, countryside - no people. There were no pictures of friends or family members, and when he checked the contacts, it looked as if it had undergone a merciless purge of some sort, with the only names being “MOM” and “DAD”.

Goro felt a little stumped. Considering how Akira summoned a cult of loyal friends in only a few short months in Tokyo, he would’ve assumed he’d have legions of hometown friends waiting for him. Akira never mentioned them during their outings, but he just assumed Akira never felt a need to mention them - being outside of Tokyo - or didn’t want to rub his popularity in his face, considering he had Goro pegged as a friendless dweeb terrifyingly fast. 

Except- right, the arrest. 

_so, akira had literally nothing when he came here,_ Goro mused, unsure if he felt irritated or relieved at this. It meant _no one_ knew how Akira would act, so he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but himself without stirring suspicions - on the other hand, Akira started with nothing and still managed to be _better than him,_ when Goro had a two year head start and was a fucking celebrity. 

“Tch,” he locked Akira’s phone and stuffed it into his pocket, pushing himself to his feet. 

He still felt shaky, nauseous - but his mind was scrambling together a plan. He remembered his personal mobile number - once he reached Leblanc and was left alone, he’ll call it and see _who_ was on the other side. Himself? Or Akira? Or one of Akira’s moronic friends?

Goro wasn’t sure which scenario he preferred. 

He looked at his reflection one last time, memorising the sight. He looked better without the glasses, and Goro was unaccustomed to the weight of them on his face. He plucked the glasses from his Shujin blazer, perching them on his nose experimentally - before grimacing and stuffing them away in his bag instead. Hideous. He wasn’t wearing them. 

Goro splashed his face one last time in the sink, to wash away the lingering sweat from his earlier panic, and straightened up with a grim smile, scraping his fingers through his hair and sweeping it back on one side. Truly, it was a _crime_ how effortless Akira’s handsomeness shone through. A bit of cheap public restroom water, and he achieved a level of ‘stylishly disheveled’ that would have taken Goro hours to perfect with expensive products. 

“I hate you,” he told Akira’s stupidly handsome reflection.

Akira’s reflection just scowled back. 

Stuffing down his lingering anxiety about this whole _batshit scenario_ , Goro shouldered Akira’s bag and exited the public restroom. The train was still trundling along, and he found the seat he had fled earlier still unoccupied. He sat down and closed his eyes, absolutely fatigued. 

What a mess. 

This was such a fucking mess. 

But there was nothing that could be done for now. With a grunt, he forced his eyes open and took out Akira’s phone again, thumbing through to his emails. Luckily, Akira still had the email for his digital train ticket, which had the train number and route, so… his arrival to Tokyo was expected in three more hours. 

Long enough for a nap. 

“Maybe if I wake up, it’ll be in the right body,” he mumbled half-heartedly, letting his phone rest on his lap, his hand loosely gripping it, and closed his eyes. The exhaustion was pulling insistently on his consciousness, and he was tired enough to let it. Sleeping was more productive than spending three hours uselessly fretting, anyway. 

Goro drifted off.

Somewhere in his dreams, a blue butterfly spiralled downwards on tattered wings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i said i was taking a hiatus in writing but this idea wouldn't leave me alone, so i got the first chapter out at least, haha. the chapters will be going Akechi -> Akira -> Akechi -> Akira, etc, so next chapter will be Akira's reaction to waking up in Goro's body hhhhahaha. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this madness


	2. AKIRA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Be discreet,”_ Akechi warned, _“It’ll be difficult to explain why I, you- the Detective Prince is roaming around Shibuya late at night.”_
> 
> “Can’t I say I’m on the trail of some nefarious criminal?” Akira teased, grasping for any semblance of normality, “Hey, does this mean I get to be Sherlock this time, and you Watson?”
> 
>  _“Fuck off, I’m never Watson,”_ Akechi growled, and promptly hung up.

Akira woke up feeling like something tried to crack his head open with a pickaxe. 

He groaned quietly, disorientated. His brain felt like it was sliding through loose sand, mental fingers poorly grasping at details as he slowly sat up, hand floundering until it grabbed what felt like the back of a sofa. Ugh, no wonder he felt so terrible. His attic sofa was a terrible place for a nap. 

He stayed like that for a bit, leaning heavily against the back of the sofa while rubbing at his itchy eyes. He slowly identified the grogginess and ache - too little sleep, staying up too late squinting at a phone screen, ugh, why was… that?

Maruki’s Palace, he recalled with a lightning bolt of realisation. Monacopter, then-

“ _Crow!”_ he gasped, sitting upright and opening his eyes to see - an utterly unrecognisable apartment. 

He froze. His fingers dug into the back of the sofa as he scanned his surroundings with a blank sort of alarm. It was a small apartment, a studio where the living area and kitchen were condensed into one, three doors - the front door, the bathroom, and a bedroom. There was a coffee table, drowning beneath a huge pile of dossier folders, papers, textbooks and notebooks, and a wide-screen television mounted on a squat cabinet, muted but showing the news on repeat. The only real ‘decoration’ was a bookshelf crammed into the narrow space between the television and the wall, every shelf bursting with different books ranging from philosophy, law, geopolitics and fiction. 

“Uh, hello?” he called awkwardly, wincing when his voice came out weird. He coughed into his hand, sitting up properly on the sofa and pressing his socked feet against the plush carpet. Giving the room one last glance, he leaned over to inspect the papers sprawled over the coffee table. 

_mental shutdown cases?_ he thought in disbelief, _cases for psychotic episodes, prosecution papers, study notes…?_

His gaze snagged on what looked like a piece of homework, Algebra, half-completed. Penciled at the very top in very neat, recognisable lines was the name: _Akechi Goro._

Akira’s heart began to pound, his breathing catching in his throat as he smiled. Akechi- he was in Akechi’s apartment? Then, he survived! He survived their return to reality! He must’ve - Akira couldn’t quite remember the sequence of events that brought him here, but maybe he had been too tired after Maruki’s Palace to remember. Knowing Akechi, he probably went off to brood while Akira napped, probably drafting some dramatic speech on why Akira should forget about him or let him turn himself in to testify against Shido. 

Spirits buoyed, Akira stretched his arms high above his head, grunting when he heard something pop in his back. Ugh, it would certainly explain why he felt so stiff and exhausted. 

“Mona?” he tried, pushing up off the sofa and carefully shuffling around the overburdened coffee table. He snooped in Akechi’s kitchen, opening cupboards and the fridge and finding himself very disapproving of the pitiful contents. Did this guy live off instant ramen and apples? Akira picked out a clean cup from the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water instead. 

There was no reply to his call or to his puttering about, so it looked like Akechi really did leave him unattended in his apartment. That was… a level of trust he didn’t expect, considering how Akechi had evaded or rebuffed any suggestion of showing Akira where he lived. He sipped his water, slaking his dry throat, and washed the cup when he was done, putting it in the dryer rack. 

“Did he change my clothes in my sleep?” he muttered, noticing that he wasn’t in his usual attire. He pinched the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it out to see it was a Phoenix Ranger Featherman R shirt, with the entire Featherman team in dramatic poses. The softness of the fabric, coupled with the fine cracks in the print, showed it was well-worn.

Well, thank god Mona hadn’t been here, then. He would’ve been squalling at Akechi undressing him. 

Heat rising to his cheeks at the thought, Akira quickly stuffed down the conflicting feelings that stirred, smoothing down his borrowed shirt carefully. The sweatpants were loose but comfortable, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he moved to one of the two doors, intending to find his clothes wherever Akechi stashed them. 

_hm?_ He frowned when his fingers easily brushed the nape of his neck, catching wispy hairs. He felt up a bit higher, feeling a low ponytail, his hair feeling silkier. He didn’t realise his hair was long enough to tie up… 

Abruptly, he had a bad feeling. 

Dropping his hand, having stopped dead at his realisation, he hastened to the closest door. It opened up to a tiny bathroom, a toilet on one side, a narrow cubicle on the other, a sink overburdened with a large selection of hair and face products crammed onto the tiny shelf above it. 

But it wasn’t that that drew Akira’s focus. 

It was the mirror above the sink. It was very clean, almost polished, and there were a few sticky notes in the corners, brightly coloured _(“10-04 T.S/P.B”, “10-04 2100hrs Sae”, “13-04 Report”)._ Framed between the pale white lines of the mirror, and the neat sticky-notes, Akechi’s pale-faced reflection stared back.

“What,” Akira said, seeing Akechi’s mouth move with his own, “the fuck.”

No one answered him, so Akira closed his eyes, stepped backwards, and blindly shut the bathroom door. He stayed like that for a good long minute, counting down the seconds, before opening the door and his eyes to see, yup, Akechi’s face in the mirror. 

“Uh?” he said uncomprehendingly. 

He slowly drew close to the mirror like he was in a trance, staring wide-eyed. Akechi’s ponytail was coming undone, his fringe pinned back from his face with criss-crossing hair clips. There were smudges of makeup around his eyes - mascara and eyeliner, from the looks of it, and Akira poked at his own cheek experimentally. It felt real. He pinched it instead, scrunching his - Akechi’s - face in discomfort as he squeezed it as hard as he could. 

It hurt. 

Fuck. 

Akira stared blankly at Akechi’s reflection. 

...did this mean Akechi was in _his_ body?

His brain just- refused to move beyond that thought. Akechi, in _his_ body, Akira, in _Akechi’s_ body. He assumed, anyway. What the hell happened? They destroyed Maruki’s Palace, they were all crammed into Monacopter and- and then… then…?

It was like trying to grasp smoke, the memories just slipped out of his grasp, hazy and indistinct. Something had _happened_ , he knew, and, then- _something_ -

Akira groaned, clutching his head when his headache spiked, exhaustion treading on its heels. He felt like he just finished several back to back rounds in Mementos, limbs leaden and head heavy with fuzz and fatigue. He fought through the urge to fall asleep on his feet, scrubbing at his eyes as he left the bathroom with a heavy heart. 

He needed to find Akechi’s phone and call, er, _himself?_ Or, whoever was in his body at the moment. 

Akira was certain this was another Metaverse thing. Maybe they never managed to leave, and this was some bizarre Palace that had switched everyone’s bodies around like some episode on a cheap morning cartoon. If there was a Palace that turned people into rats, then, well, it wasn’t too _out there._ There’d be a solution for it, he was sure. 

Calming himself with these flimsy explanations, Akira returned to the coffee table, digging through the papers frantically. There was no phone, and when he lifted the sofa cushions, there wasn’t one there either. What the hell - Akechi definitely had a phone. 

_“-and now, the weather.”_

Akira looked up briefly, seeing the news switch to a weather forecast, and spotted what looked like a phone tucked underneath the television. He tutted to himself for his obliviousness, rounding the coffee table to pick it up. It looked a little different than he remembered, but it unlocked with his thumbprint, bringing up a plain, default background of a mountain, along with the date and time. 

He stared. 

_21:56_ _  
_ _09 April, 2016_

“What,” Akira started, then shook his head, “It must be… the time’s probably set wrong.”

But this was _Akechi’s phone._ He was so painfully punctual he ensured he turned up ten minutes early to any appointment or outing. There was no way he would tolerate his phone having the incorrect date and time. Which meant… but that was just as ridiculous.

“Body swapping and… time travel,” Akira said, his tone entirely flat.

Then again, was it more ridiculous than whatever crazy shit he went through in the Metaverse? The Palaces? The Shadows? The Persona? Maruki’s false reality? Shooting a fucking _god_ in the _face_ with a _giant gun_? A little bit of body swapping and time travel was small potatoes next to that. 

Akira slowly sat down - only to jump back up when the coffee table creaked in protest from his weight dropping on it. Feeling restless, he paced instead, making several circuits of the apartment as he thought this through. He shoved aside any quivering feeling of alarm and horror at his situation - not important. That wasn’t helpful. He needed to focus on what he knew, and what he could _do._

Ninth of April was when he first arrived in Tokyo: fact. Tomorrow, Akechi was supposed to cause a psychotic episode that would cause a train crash, injuring multiple people: fact. Right now, Akira was Akechi: fact. 

He pressed Akechi’s phone against his mouth, frozen at the thought. That meant, Shido would have ordered Akechi either recently or soon to carry out the hit. He would expect there to be a train crash tomorrow morning which, well, Akira didn’t have the means (Loki) nor the will (he had morals). Yet, if Akira didn’t follow through…

_(the glint of a pistol as cognitive akechi aimed it at crow’s head, its smile empty and demonic, “the captain has no need for losers”)_

A chill swept through him as cutting as a blizzard. 

_“Shit.”_ What should he do!? 

As if answering his prayers, he heard a phone ring. He jolted, looking at the phone in his hand but - it wasn’t this. Bewildered, he hunted for the source of the noise, cautiously entering Akechi’s bedroom to find a more familiar looking phone buzzing angrily on his nightstand, still plugged into its charger. 

_akechi has two phones?_ Akira thought, tossing the quiet one onto the bed and picking up the ringing one. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER flashed ominously on the screen. 

He unplugged it from the charger and answered it, his stomach wrapping itself into knots; “Hello?”

 _“Joker, is that you?”_ his own voice growled out exhaustedly. 

“Crow?” Akira blurted. 

A long silence dragged out on the other end, filled only with the static of something breathing. 

_“Fuck,”_ himself- Akechi??? - sighed, _“Of course it’s you, Kurusu.”_

“Akechi, what’s going on?” Akira blurted, his own anxieties prompting him to talk - Shido, tomorrow’s hit, _being in someone else’s body_ \- it was all too much right now, “Do you- do you remember-”

 _“Maruki, yes, but that's it,"_ Akechi cut across him, _“I guess you don’t remember anything after thateither?”_

“I remember escaping in Monacopter,” Akira said tensely, “Then… nothing? I woke up about, uh, ten minutes ago as you?”

 _“Really?”_ Akechi sounded startled, _“I’ve been you for about seven hours now.”_

“Huh,” Akira was stumped, “I don’t know.” 

Another long silence erupted. Neither of them knew how to bridge the gap, how to figure this whole _batshit insane_ situation out. Akira didn’t dare think about the looming horror that was Akechi’s jam-packed schedule: honours student, detective prince, hitman and TV celebrity? Just thinking about handling _one_ of those made Akira feel faint, let alone all _four._

 _“We need to talk,”_ Akechi finally said, _“In person. Now.”_

“It’s late, the trains won’t be running,” Akira pointed out. 

_“Just cycle, I have a bike you can use. The bike lock's code is 1195,”_ Akechi sighed, sounding as exhausted as Akira felt, _“We’ll meet in Shibuya to access Mementos. We should check on our Persona status while we’re at it.”_

“Wait,” Akira said, “Before you hang up, tomorrow, Shido’s got a hit planned.”

Akechi was quiet for a brief moment, then; _“Oh, yes, I remember.”_ A pause. _“We’ll discuss it when we meet up.”_

Discuss it, like it was a given it’ll happen. Akira was _really_ getting a horrible feeling, “Right.”

 _“Be discreet,”_ Akechi warned, _“It’ll be difficult to explain why I, you- the Detective Prince is roaming around Shibuya late at night.”_

“Can’t I say I’m on the trail of some nefarious criminal?” Akira teased, grasping for any semblance of normality, “Hey, does this mean I get to be Sherlock this time, and you Watson?”

 _“Fuck off, I’m never Watson,”_ Akechi growled, and promptly hung up.

Akira laughed; it was a very shaky, near hysterical laugh, but it was one nevertheless. It was like Maruki’s false reality all over again, him and Akechi joining forces in a tense, explosive partnership to dig into a mystery. Except this time it was a little more complicated than some paradisiacal illusion: it was literal time travel and body swapping. 

_unless this is a continuation of the false reality,_ he mused, _maruki could bring dead people back to life, so swapping bodies and distorting our perception of time…?_

But there was no point thinking of theories on his own when dear _Watson_ was waiting for him. Quite impatient and angry at that. 

“He’s going to eat Kamoshida alive,” Akira realised, recalling the early days of Shujin with abrupt clarity. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. It might nip things in the bud, but then Ann and Ryuji might not…

He’ll have to think on it. 

First, he had to, um, get changed.

* * *

It took Akira an embarrassingly long time to find something appropriate for his clandestine meeting. Akechi, to his utter lack of surprise, had an entire wardrobe of argyle sweater vests, starched shirts and crisp trousers that ranged from beige to black. All recognisable attire that would scream _‘I AM THE DETECTIVE PRINCE SUSPICIOUSLY SKULKING ABOUT SHIBUYA STATION AT MIDNIGHT PLEASE BLOG ABOUT IT’._

Digging deeper, however, unearthed a small bag at the bottom of the wardrobe with neatly folded hoodies, faded trousers and t-shirts. They were cheap, and clearly from before Akechi’s rise to fame, carrying a sense of well-worn necessity. Akira was surprised he hadn’t thrown them out, but maybe he couldn’t bring himself to. Right at the very bottom of the bag there was a t-shirt that was clearly for a child, with a very faded and cracked print of Red Hawk. There were large, faded brown stains on the front, seeping into the cotten and flaking paint. One was shaped like a small handprint, like its owner had tried to wipe it clean.

 _i think this is blood,_ Akira thought uncomfortably, recalling Akechi’s quiet confession of his mother’s suicide. He carefully put the t-shirt back.

A few minutes later and he cobbled together his disguise. Akechi had a full-length mirror in his bedroom (because _of course he did_ ), and Akira frowned uncomfortably at his reflection. The hoodie he had chosen was greyish and baggy, and the jeans were faded at the knees where the denim was torn and ripped. He managed to find a pair of beaten up trainers too, grass and mud stains clinging to the off-white sides and the laces greyish from repeated stains and abuse. Akira finished it off by retying up Akechi’s hair into a low ponytail, showing off the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the gentle curve of his jawline, and pinned one side of his fringe back with the hair clips.

He looked so unlike the Akechi he knew that Akira was briefly perturbed. He weirdly liked this look, though. It felt more… 

_normal,_ he decided, studying Akechi’s tired face in the mirror. He’d washed off the makeup earlier, and it revealed a paler face than usual, with horrendously stark bruises under his bloodshot eyes that spoke of lack of sleep. Akira could feel it too, a throbbing pressure pain between his temples and pulsing against his sinuses, an overwhelming urge to just curl up on his (Akechi’s) bed and nod off for a few hours. 

“How did you live, man,” he muttered to the mirror, pulling his hood up. He looked like a hoodlum, “I’m definitely giving you more sleep.”

Akechi’s reflection just stared dully back at him. 

Akira took that cue to leave, barely remembering to take Akechi’s key, wallet and phone with him in the process. 

* * *

Shibuya station was quiet when he arrived, his bike’s brakes squealing a little loudly when he stopped and dismounted, pushing it the rest of the way. Akechi’s bike was thankfully easy enough to get used to, even if Akira wasn’t very accustomed to road biking in Tokyo of all places, and he halted next to the subway entrance, tightly gripping his hands around the handlebars. The station square was too quiet. 

“There you are.”

Akira almost leapt out of his skin at hearing _himself_ , and he turned around to see that Akechi had managed to sneak up on him and-

“Why do you look like _that?”_ Akira blurted without thinking, staring at his own face without the glasses and with the hair stylishly disheveled. He looked good but - it was too eye-catching. At least Akechi was wearing Akira’s usual casual clothing instead of manifesting an old man sweater out of nothingness. 

“I could ask the same to you,” Akechi drawled, and it was _bizarre_ , to see _himself_ look so disdainful and irritated. Akechi was surprisingly expressive in someone else’s skin, “Why did you dress me up like a _homeless person?”_

“Hey,” Akira pulled the bike around him, so he wasn’t talking so awkwardly over his shoulder, “Do you want someone to recognise you- er, me? Here?”

“Hm,” Akechi conceded that point, “So.”

“So.”

“This,” Akechi gestured vaguely between them, “This is a mess.”

“Yeah,” Akira fiddled with his fringe. Akechi’s hair was so long, he could curl a honey-coloured lock of it around his finger with little effort, “It is.”

An awkward silence oozed over them like sticky treacle. Akira fought the urge to clear his throat. 

“Well, we should see what the situation is with our Persona before we proceed,” Akechi said, breaking the tension with all the delicacy of a glass bottle to the face, “Do you have the app?”

“Uh,” Akira tugged harder on his fringe, “You had too many phones, and I wasn’t sure which one-”

“Oh for,” Akechi pinched the bridge of his nose, “The one I called you on, that is- never mind. I have it.”

With an anger Akira never would have so openly demonstrated, Akechi dug out his phone and unlocked it, snarling; _“Mementos._ ” The world immediately began to swirl and contort, Akira grimacing through the nauseating feel of being snapped into a place that was too small for him to comfortably fill. 

The Metaverse settled around them, and Akira found himself staring at… well, he wasn’t sure. 

“Uh,” Akira began. 

“What,” Akechi blurted, his hands coming up to feel his mask. Like his Black Mask outfit, the mask was more like a helmet, the visor fanged and pointed with opaque crimson lenses neutralising the worst of his glares. Aside from that, the rest of his outfit looked like a bizarre mishmash of his Princely self and his Black Mask self, the feathered, fraying cape latched onto the neat, button-up tunic, his clawed gauntlets easing into gunmetal black vambraces that reached up to his elbows. Even his boots were different, the metal tips shaped like claws and transforming into greaves that stopped just short of his knees. 

The result was a very chaotic looking Metaverse outfit that was trying to be two things at once: a Prince and a Death Knight. Akira privately thought it was very fitting - and easier on the eyes. 

“That’s… new,” Akira said neutrally, reaching up and finding himself relieved to feel his usual Joker mask. A quick glance down showed his outfit was the same, even if it was catered to Akechi’s body, “I look the same, though. Well, I mean, my Metaverse-”

“Don’t make this confusing,” Akechi snapped, shoving his pointed visor upwards to better glower at Akira, “Ugh, why am _I_ the only one to change?” 

“At least it’s not as bad as your BDSM pyjamas?” Akira delivered the barb innocently. 

Akechi’s eyes narrowed into slits, his gauntlets creaking from how hard he clenched his hand into a fist. Thankfully, he did not give into the obvious urge to slug Akira in the face, and instead blew out a short, calming breath, stomping past him. Every movement sounded like the rattle of a cutlery drawer.

“Stash the bike and follow me,” Akechi snarled, his frayed, feathered cape snapping in his wake. 

“Grumpy, grumpy,” Akira murmured, feeling revitalised at Akechi’s obvious annoyance. He rested the bike, which survived the journey to Mementos, against the barrier to the subway stairs, following his partner-in-crime down into the dark depths. 

* * *

They stopped before entering Mementos proper at the top of the escalators. Akira automatically glanced to his left, but there was no Velvet Room door. Which begged the question: who would be behind it? If they were back in time, did that mean Igor was back to being imprisoned? Lavenza back to being Caroline and Justine? Or did it exist outside of time and was how Akira left it in the future? Wouldn’t that mean there’d be two Velvet Rooms existing in parallel?

_ugh, this is making my head hurt._

“Alright, Joker,” Akechi said, sounding calmer. He seemed to be more in his element amongst the dim, crimson light of Mementos, strange shadows cast across his face beneath the shadow of his uplifted visor, “Let’s summon our Persona.”

Akira nodded, setting aside the mystery of the Velvet Room for now, and brushed his fingers against his mask. He felt his Persona respond before he even fully reached out, and smiled as he murmured _“Arsene”_ , just as Akechi growled _“Loki”._

Their Persona bloomed into life simultaneously. They were quiet and docile as they hovered at their backs while eyeing each other with idle interest. There was no lingering hostility within either of them, a subconscious understanding that they were no longer each other’s enemies. Arsene tipped his hat to Loki, and Loki flicked its fingers in greeting. 

Akechi frowned at Arsene loitering behind Akira; “So, our Persona are the same, at least.”

“Yeah,” Akira dismissed his Persona, and Akechi did the same, but he felt something _else_ deeper inside of him. Maybe he carried over the Persona he armed himself with when bringing the fight to Maruki? He reached out for it, that strange, flickering warmth, staring into the middle distance as his fingers danced over his mask, going through the motions of switching Persona. 

“What are you-” Akechi began, only to cut himself off with a sharp, pained gasp. 

It was like grasping a hot coal, yet one that didn’t scorch his palm. It sat heavy and solid in his heart, too clunky and sharp-edged to be comfortable, yet it made its space like it belonged anyway. Akira stared wide-eyed at Akechi across from him, who was staring back with a hand clutched over his heart like he’d been kicked in the sternum. 

The name was poised on the tip of his tongue, his mental fingers still curled around that hot star. The pain was intense yet sweet, and his mouth felt dry as he murmured; “ _Loki.”_

His mask vanished in a flare of blue, and behind him, Loki manifested as if it was always his. The Persona perched on its sword, one long leg crossed over the other, and playfully waggled its fingers at the poleaxed Akechi, red-fanged grin in place. 

“What- how- what,” Akechi wheezed, his hand still pressed over his chest, “ _What?”_

“Are you okay?” Akira said a little stupidly. He felt weird. He didn’t know if it was a good or bad weird yet, “I feel like I have heartburn.”

“I feel like something just tore out half my guts, yes,” Akechi snarled, forcibly lowering his hand and looking up at Loki in open betrayal, “I don’t understand…” 

It was strange to see such a hurt expression on his own face. Akira’s stomach did a weird wiggle at the sight of it, “Try to summon Arsene.”

Akechi frowned at him, but he obligingly lifted his hand to his mask. There was a long pause, one where Akira worried that this whole thing was one-sided, that Akechi was the one to suffer having even his own Persona ripped from him - but then he felt _something_ hook its claws into his heartstrings and _yank._ A nauseous, emptying feeling like something really _did_ tear out half his guts and left the other half in a tangled mess, invasive and gloriously intimate all at once. It took every scrap of willpower not to gasp from the intensity of it. 

“ _Arsene,”_ Akechi growled out, and in a flurry of feathers and blue flame, Arsene manifested behind him with a hearty laugh. 

“Ooooh, okay, yeah, that hurts,” Akira coughed, rubbing his chest as the pair of them stared at each other warily. Their borrowed Persona seemed far more jovial in comparison, lingering at their backs while exchanging monstrous grins.

“So, as well as stealing each other’s bodies,” Akechi muttered sourly, “We can steal each other’s Persona. _Fantastic._ ” 

“I like to think…” Akira took a few steadying breaths, the pain dulling into a tolerable ache, “We’re sharing custody.”

Akechi gave him a look of utter disgust. 

They dismissed their borrowed Persona, and Akira wondered; “What would happen if we tried to summon the same Persona at the same time?”

There was a heavy pause. 

“Let’s try it,” Akechi said grimly. 

What followed was an experience so unpleasant they both agreed to never attempt it again. The Persona they experimented with - Loki - got caught in between them, like a gordian knot made of razor wire, tightening and drawing so taut it felt like it was trying to claw Akira’s heart out from between his ribs. They quickly stopped within the first few seconds of this unique agony, panting and shaking, leaving them both with a lingering taste of blood in their mouths. 

“O-Okay, so, that won’t work,” Akira gasped, bracing himself on his knees, “Holy _fuck._ ”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Akechi said, sounding breathless but otherwise unaffected. If it weren’t for his pallour and tightly pursed lips, Akira wouldn’t have thought he was pained. 

_i really do have an amazing poker face,_ Akira thought a bit inanely, studying Akechi closely, _it’s weird to be on this side of it._

Akechi narrowed his grey eyes at him when he caught him staring, his lip curling in a defensive snarl, “ _What.”_

“I still find it weird,” Akira said honestly, straightening up and pushing his mask atop of his head to wipe his sweaty brow, “This. Just - looking at my own face.”

“You get used to it,” Akechi said dismissively, looking away from him, “In any case, now that we’ve established our Persona situation, we should move onto the main issue: tomorrow.”

Akira sobered, “Tomorrow.”

“You’ll have to fulfil Shido’s orders,” Akechi said, “That, or pass the targets to me, and I’ll fulfil them for you.”

Akira bit down on the knee-jerk refusal. As he had already concluded himself, refusing to follow Shido’s orders would just result in an early termination. Cognitive Akechi had laid out the damning plan to dispose of him by election time, and Akira was certain Shido wouldn’t shed any tears if he had to move those plans ahead so long as it meant neutralising a threat before it could cause _complications._ For sheer survival’s sake, ‘Akechi’ will have to carry out Shido’s orders.

Yet, the idea of pretending to be Akechi Goro, Supernatural Hitman, made Akira feel cold and clammy. There was no way he could cause Mental Shutdowns and the like just to save his own skin - but it wasn’t just his skin, it was _Akechi’s skin_ he was currently trapped in. It was an unwinnable situation, leaving him feeling aggravated and helpless.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, clenching his hands tight. 

“I…” he began, “I’m not sure if…” 

“Tanji Sho,” Akechi said abruptly, “That’s the name of your target. An unimportant train conductor whose accident unearthed the Minister of Transportation’s negligence in the maintenance of the subway, or so Shido will claim.”

Akira said nothing. 

Akechi cupped the chinguard of his mask, peering at him with an unreadable expression, “If I recall the incident correctly: Tanji-san suffered from a temporary psychotic episode and forced the train to crash. His injuries were, let’s see, a broken arm and a concussion. He made a full recovery after a few months. As for the passengers, while there were injuries, none of them were serious and nobody died.”

“Akechi-”

“Nobody _died_ , Joker,” Akechi stressed.

“...” Akira blew out a shaky breath, “Even so, I…”

“If you feel like you can’t handle it,” Akechi continued, his voice mercilessly flat and cold, “Tell me. We _cannot_ have Shido view me, you - _us,_ as a loose end to tie up before the election. Well, unless you decide to hide out in the Metaverse for the rest of the year.”

“Can’t we go to Shido’s Palace now?” Akira asked, “We managed Maruki’s Palace fine by ourselves.”

“We _barely_ managed Maruki’s Palace by ourselves. If it weren’t for your teammates barging in at the last moment, we might still be there in brainwashed happiness,” Akechi growled out, sounding like admitting this was painful, “And even then, it’ll take time to infiltrate his Palace. Time in which _you_ need to pretend to be his loyal attack dog.”

A tense silence passed between them.

“...maybe hiding out in Mementos won’t be too bad,” Akira joked weakly. 

“Idiot,” Akechi said without much heat. Something softened within the harsh lines of his expression; “Joker. I know it’s not you. So, I can continue to-”

“No,” Akira clenched his jaw, his expression firming as he solidified his resolve. This was only temporary, and he refused to do any hits that would result in deaths. Temporary psychotic breakdowns, Mental Shutdowns that led to temporary comas, he could do those. He’d _hate every moment of it_ but he’ll do it, for the short few months until they could assault Shido’s Palace and put an end to everything. It was a necessary evil with, hopefully, no lingering consequences.

 _i contemplated trapping us in a fake reality to keep him alive, after all,_ Akira thought with considerable guilt, relieved Akechi never realised how close he’d been to caving, _so this is the next logical step._

Akechi studied him for a long moment, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Fine,” Akechi crossed his arms, still giving Akira an intent look. He didn’t look happy in the slightest; “Don’t fuck it up.”

“How hard could it be?” Akira drawled, clawing up Joker’s flippant charm, “Loki will do all the work, yeah?”

Akechi grimaced, scrunching up his nose - and abruptly yawned, one he hurriedly hid behind his hand. Akira quickly followed suit, exhaustion striking him hard between the ribs as he realised just how _late_ it probably was - and he’ll have to get up early to ruin ‘Tanji Sho’s’ day too. Fantastic. 

“Ugh, I forgot the time,” Akira mumbled, rubbing his eyes before lowering his mask down again, “We should probably go. You have school tomorrow, right?”

“Shujin,” Akechi muttered with distaste, “I’m going to hate everything.”

They both set off for Mementos’s entrance when Akira abruptly stopped, a realisation dawning; “Wait.”

Akechi stopped too, looking at him with a wary expression; “What?”

Akira couldn’t help but smile sheepishly as he turned to his partner-in-crime, fiddling with a long lock of hair by curling it around his finger, “Uh, where do you go to school again…?”

“You’re joking.”

“It never came up!”

For a brief moment, Akira genuinely thought Akechi was going to cry, though whether from anger or despair, it was hard to tell; “I’ll text you the important information tonight.”

Akira said nothing. Akechi’s bitten off words implied looming violence. 

They left Mementos soon after, the air still awkward and tense between them, but with the beginnings of a shaky plan and partnership cobbled hastily together. It was a start, no matter how rocky. 

Now they just had to see this madness through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was quite the chunky one, but not to worry, akechi's gonna have a very long day next (as we will see how his first meeting with sojiro went + after meeting akira)


	3. Day One

It was a little past midnight when Goro returned to Leblanc and stashed the bike he stole into a narrow alleyway. 

He couldn’t quite recall where he took it from (and its frame was pitted with so much rust and the brakes so creaky, it was horribly neglected anyway), and he was too tired to pretend to care. Once his crime was lazily hidden, non-attributable to himself, he ambled away from Leblanc, taking a meandering, roundabout route to the rear of the cafe, where he proceeded to clamber up the drainage pipe and through the open attic window. 

It felt a little bit like old times. 

Back when Goro was some scruffy, feral orphan child being catapulted between uncaring foster homes, he made it a habit to come and go as he pleased - usually out of the window if the carers were strict about locking the front door. It had made him feel like an unwanted stray cat at times, but it gifted him with a few breaking and entering skills that came into use now: Sojiro had locked the door to Leblanc when he left earlier, and Goro didn’t want to leave the cafe  _ unlocked _ while stealing bikes to cycle to Shibuya, so, out the window he had gone. 

The crates holding up his mattress creaked when he landed on it heavily, not moving from his messy sprawl as he took a moment to breathe.

His meeting with Akira… it both reassured and worried him.

Within his heart he could still feel Arsene, kept because Akira needed Loki. Burning white hot, purring like a satiated big cat that rattled his ribs, making his nerves tingle and fingers twitch. Arsene felt too grandiloquent and scorching, and he rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball with his hands pressed against his chest, uncaring of the dirt his shoes smudged onto his duvet. 

Despite his insight into Wakaba’s research and his own forays into the Metaverse, he didn’t understand how they could switch Persona like this. What did it mean? If a Persona was linked to one’s  _ self, _ then it didn’t matter what physical shell their minds were huddled within; Loki should stay with Goro, and Arsene with Akira. Instead they slithered between each other, a barbed ouroboros that cauterised its intimate journey through their hearts. They were bound deeper than the soul now.

Goro sighed, uncoiling himself to sit up properly. 

For now, the  _ how _ and  _ why _ of it didn’t matter. The both of them agreed there was one main suspect to investigate for this body swapping, time travelling nonsense, and he didn’t appear until after Kamoshida was publicly humiliated. So that meant Goro had to  _ stick to the timeline. _

As Akira. 

He frowned. 

Akira had given him a very short timeline of what happened, admittedly hazy and vague on dates and events  _ (“Uh, on my first day of school, me and Ryuji ended up in the Palace, then I think the next day, Ryuji awakened his Persona? And, I think a week later…”) _ . Goro had told him to stop fucking around and actually type up a coherent timeline for him to send, but Akira didn’t seem overly concerned about it. 

_ he’s not taking this seriously, _ he thought aggravatedly, chewing his thumbnail,  _ he better not hesitate tomorrow. _

That was his main worry. 

He sat there for a long while, staring blindly into the darkness of his room as his mind combed through the events to come. It was unsustainable, this scam they were attempting to pull, but they had no choice but to boldly forge onwards with it. Goro could only hope they toppled Shido quickly - or discovered a way to return to their correct bodies soon. 

_ the solution is the metaverse, somehow, _ he mused,  _ it must be.  _

But, those were worries for later. Right now it was late, Goro was exhausted, and he had to, ugh,  _ go to school _ tomorrow with dear old Boss. He made a face, not all enthused about the chore, but he kicked off his shoes and got up to prepare for bed. 

* * *

Unsurprisingly, he barely slept that night.

* * *

Elsewhere, in the early hours of the morning just before peak rush hour, Akira was at a moral crossroads. 

The Shadow of Tanji Sho was pathetic, cowering and blubbering as he shielded himself with his arms - as if that could protect him. Akira had seen this sight plenty of times, but it normally resolved with him, or his friends, gently (or firmly, depending) reprimanding the Shadow in question and encouraging them to do better. This would be where Akira would show him the light and snatch his treasure as the Shadow returned to his real world self. A bloodless, painless resolution.

But right now, Akira wasn’t Akira. 

He swallowed thickly, taking several bracing breaths. Behind him, Loki was silent, a heavy presence on his heart, like being swaddled up in a too warm blanket - nothing like Arsene, who would’ve begun a pep talk by now, energetic and rousing, something like  _ “you have come this far, only to get cold feet? A gentleman thief always follows through to the end, mon cher!” _

But Akira was going to  _ ruin this man’s life. _ Akechi may be right, no one will die, only temporary injuries that will heal within weeks, but this man will be like Akira: his reputation in tatters, slapped with a crime he committed because Akira fucking  _ brainwashed him to do it _ \- or, whatever going psychotic even fucking did. It had been easy to make the promise to Akechi’s face, when the task was a distant, potential thing, but right now, standing in front of Tanji, staring at the potential consequences in the face, he felt nauseous and clammy. 

_ it’s like with maruki all over again, _ he thought faintly,  _ knowing akechi will die if i… if we… _

But if Akira chickened out and did nothing, then he was signing his - and Akechi’s - death warrant too. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, except they were both slowly grinding closer and closer, crushing him in between with a terrifying, glacial finality. His hand shook as he pointed at Tanji, the words stuck in his throat. 

He couldn’t do it. 

_ Fuck _ , he couldn’t do it.

_ CHNK. _

Akira startled at the noise, turning his head to see Loki’s blade lowered to the floor. He barely had time to dwell on it. Loki’s hands came down on his shoulders, dwarfing them, clutching them firmly, as slowly, the Persona crouched down behind him. Akira stayed still, bewildered and confused, but Loki did nothing more. 

“L-Loki?” he rasped, and the Persona still said nothing. Loki made a low, rumbling noise deep in its chest, still holding Akira’s shoulders, and folded over him like a mother bird brooding over her clutch. The smouldering coal that was Loki nestled in his heart radiated a near painful warmth, lapping at his crumbling resolve and shoring up its foundation. Its hands squeezed his shoulders a little tighter. 

**_you can do it,_ ** Loki said without saying anything,  **_you have to do it._ **

“I know,” Akira whispered, sucking in a deep breath. He kept his eyes closed, because he was a coward, pointed at Tanji’s Shadow, and said, “Call… Call of Chaos.”

The Shadow screamed, and Loki kindly covered his ears.

* * *

The train had crashed when Akira exited Mementos, and quietly, pale-faced and with his head bowed, he slipped away from the gathered crowd that screamed and cried outside the train station’s entrance. 

Mission accomplished. 

* * *

_ “As before, no one was hurt.” _

“Yeah,” Akira said listlessly, sprawled out on his -  _ Akechi’s _ \- sofa as he rotated the dart between his fingers. In an effort to distract himself, he had shamelessly snooped through Akechi’s apartment, and discovered a small dartboard with a very abused photo of Shido taped to it. Akira had set it up on the wall next to the television, and was very aggressively launching darts at Shido’s smug, stupid face. 

_ “Today was rather uneventful on my side,” _ Akechi commented, no doubt picking up on Akira’s reluctance to discuss the hit,  _ “Though how you survived being trapped in a car for several hours with Sakura-san the first time, I don’t know.” _

Akira launched the dart, and smirked viciously when it landed right in Shido’s eye, “Did you enjoy your forced socialising?”

_ “Neither of us did,” _ Akechi grumped,  _ “It was awkward on both sides, and…” _

Akira got up off the sofa, moving to gather up the darts, “What?”

_ “I suppose I didn’t realise how reviled and distrusted you were, when you first arrived here,” _ Akechi admitted reluctantly,  _ “It took tremendous effort not to break Kobayakawa’s face on his desk.” _

Akira paused, “Kobayakawa. Didn’t you…”

_ “Kill him before? Mm, yes. Shido’s orders.” _

“Because he was part of the conspiracy too…” Akira murmured, though he didn’t understand  _ how. _ What use did Kobayakawa have for the Conspiracy as some random principal in a, admittedly, prestigious school? It wasn’t solely because of Kamoshida, was it? He didn’t get it. 

Speaking of Shujin… “You think you’ll be okay tomorrow?”

_ “Please,” _ Akira could  _ feel _ the sneer through the phone,  _ “As if I care what a school full of brain-dead morons think about me. Not to worry, Kurusu, I promise my poor delicate heart will not be overly bruised by their stupid gossip.” _

Akira sighed exasperatedly, and returned to the sofa, “I  _ mean _ with the Palace. Tomorrow’s when I went in and ‘woke up’ my Persona.”

_ “I know. The keywords are Kamoshida, Shujin and Castle and I’ll make sure to drag Sakamoto in as well, much to my eternal suffering. Stop being a control freak.” _

“Contr-  _ you’re _ calling  _ me _ a control freak?” Akira scoffed incredulously, flopping back down on the sofa and aiming up another shot, “Who’s the one who demanded a written timetable formatted by date and  _ time?” _

_ “That’s important-” _

“Just go with the flow,” Akira snapped a bit testily, launching the dart and cursing when it missed Shido’s face, hitting the outer circle of the dartboard, “You’ll hit all the same points I did when I went through-”

_ “I’m  _ **_not you,”_ ** Akechi suddenly snarled,  _ “There’s no  _ **_certainty_ ** _ I will do  _ **_exactly_ ** _ as you did instinctively-” _

“Infiltrate Kamoshida’s heart and meet up with Mona, Ryuji and Ann. Even  _ you _ can do that.”

Akechi made a noise like an agitated bull, the phone static crackling from the force of his exhales. After a pause, audibly more controlled, albeit through gritted teeth;  _ “Akira, I don’t want to fuck this up.”  _

There was a moment of silence, and Akira felt a trickle of shame dampen his own irritableness. Right, he wasn’t being very fair to Akechi right now. He lowered his hand where it had been poised to throw the dart. 

“I… I know,” he sighed, “Sorry, I’m just… today was rough.”

_ “I know,” _ Akechi sounded tired,  _ “I told you, I can do the others.” _

“I can’t ask you to do that  _ on top of _ being me,” Akira said bitterly, “It’s fine. I’ll handle it. Just… tell me which ones ended in deaths. Please, and I’ll try… something else.” 

_ “Alright.” _

Another moment of silence, taut and… not quite awkward. Akira gently pressed the pad of his thumb against the dart’s point, trying to imagine how Akechi would pretend to be  _ him _ in  _ Shujin. _ Akira had ducked his head against the whispers and gossips, made himself small and unobtrusive. Akechi...

He couldn’t help it, he chuckled. 

_ “What?” _

“Imagining you tomorrow,” Akira drawled, aiming the dart again, “I kept my head down and barely spoke to people in Shijin. I bet you’ll get into a fight before the day is out and become the new bancho.”

_ “More likely I would murder Sakamoto,” _ Akechi growled,  _ “Or Kamoshida.” _

“Please don’t get sent to jail on your first day of school.” 

_ “Like I’d get caught.” _

“Brat,” Akira muttered, “Anyway, I should go to bed.  _ Someone _ has an early day and it’s all your fault, frankly.”

_ “You’ll manage,” _ Akechi said with little to no sympathy, and his voice brightened with a malicious sort of glee,  _ “Meanwhile, I will enjoy only having to focus on  _ **_second year_ ** _ studies with a sidegig of vigilantism. I will  _ **_thoroughly_ ** _ enjoy my free time to the fullest.” _

Akira clenched his jaw, feeling himself grind his teeth, “Oh, I hope you  _ enjoy it, _ alright…” 

_ “Goodnight, Kurusu,” _ Akechi purred,  _ “Sweet dreams.” _

“Die,” Akira said flatly. Akechi laughed at him, a low, husky chuckle that purred down the phone before the call disconnected. Akira dropped the phone on the sofa and took his shot. 

_ ‘thwip!’ _

The dart trembled where it had struck Shido dead between the eyes. 

“Can’t wait until we deal with you,” Akira grumped. 

The smirking photo of Shido said nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey been a while since i updated this one, huh? tbh i got stuck, so this chapter is a little short since i threw it out so i could get to the good part: akechi's first day at shujin as akira :)


	4. Day Two - Shujin

Goro came to the awkward realisation that he was once again poor. 

Back as Shido’s hitman, money was no object when it came to frivolous spending. Two years had been enough to dull the memory of poverty, and when everything came to a head in Shido’s ship, well, Goro had been dead. Maruki’s reality didn’t seem overly bothered that the gold credit card Shido lent him should be blocked, so once again, Goro hadn’t tasted the bitter reality of ‘no money’. 

Now he was getting a disgusting mouthful of it. 

Goro’s gaze shifted from Akira’s near empty wallet to the small food store in Aoyama-Itchome station. He had a routine, as the Detective Prince, where he would grab breakfast on his way to wherever he was going that day, a nice little treat to keep his blood sugar up. It was a little pricey, since his tastes ran on the expensive side, but it had been affordable on his budget - or lack thereof. As Akira… 

He felt his shoulders slump as he grumbled under his breath; “My katsu bun…” 

As Akira he was  _ dirt poor. _

Miffed, Goro stowed Akira’s useless wallet back into his pocket and sulked out of the train station with an empty stomach. This day was already off to a fantastic start. 

The dark clouds overhead growled warningly, and Goro rummaged in his bag without pausing his slow walk to withdraw his crappy umbrella. He remembered it that it rained today, something he only recalled because of how miserable he had been the first time round. He wasn’t getting piss-wrapped before school again. 

He popped it open, resting it against his shoulder as the first few droplets started to fall, smattering against his umbrella. He hummed quietly, pleased at his own foresight, and watched with heavy-lidded eyes as less prepared students raced past him with their bookbags raised high as pseudo-shelter. Goro slowed his pace a little, not too keen on reaching school too early. 

Also, he was trying to keep an eye out for Sakamoto and Takamaki. 

Time had dulled Akira’s recollection: he couldn’t recall where, exactly, he met up with those two on his first day, only that it was ‘somewhere outside of Shujin’. The rain had sent them both under the awning of a nearby store, so Goro just had to keep his eyes peeled. They were both blond, so he doubted he’d miss them.

The rain intensified into a downpour, the hem of Goro’s trousers becoming sodden, water trickling into his shoes. He frowned - and was quickly distracted from the unpleasant sensation of wet socks when he saw blond- Takamaki. 

_ there you are, _ Goro thought, and diverted course immediately. 

Unlike most times he met the energetic and surprisingly bull-headed Takamaki, she looked rather dispirited and glum, unenthusiastically raking her fingers through her damp pigtails. She didn’t notice Goro’s approach until he was right in front of her, and her expression was instantly closed off and wary, her hands curled around the strap of her bag. 

Interesting. 

“Hello,” Goro greeted, still not used to hearing Akira’s voice. It was considerably deeper than his own, far more… melodic and charismatic than Goro’s own. He kind of hated it. Stupid, fucking sexy Akira, barely having to  _ try _ to be perfect- “Are you from Shujin?”

“Yeah…” Takamaki said warily, “Why?”

Goro didn’t let himself be deterred from the cool reception, tilting his head with his most charismatic smile. On Akechi Goro’s face, such an expression was endearing and difficult to distrust. On Kurusu Akira’s face, it was downright  _ lethal. _ Takamaki visibly struggled to maintain her open caution beneath the full force of it. 

“I’m a transfer student,” Goro said, lifting his free hand to rub the back of his neck, “Today’s my first day and… um, well, I’m a little lost?”

“Lost?” Takamaki softened up a fraction, “Are you… new to Tokyo?”

“Yeah, I’m a country bumpkin,” Goro admitted sheepishly, and fidgeted with his fringe in an imitation of Akira’s nervous habit, “This is my first time in the city, so…”

Takamaki paused for a short few seconds, intently studying his face for a hint of deceit. Eventually, she gauged him truthful enough, because her expression eased into something more welcoming, though the clear exhaustion in her eyes dulled it somewhat. 

“Oh, this place is probably really confusing for you then, huh? I can give you directions.”

“Sure, or…” Goro waggled his umbrella temptingly, “You can guide me there? I noticed you were without an umbrella. The least I can do is keep you dry for helping me find my way.”

Takamaki bit her bottom lip and she peered out from underneath her shelter slightly. The clouds were still heavy and dark, and the rain didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon. The idea of running to school soaking wet clearly overran whatever ‘stranger danger’ caution she was feeling, because she nodded and gave him an uncertain smile; “Sure, I can do that.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it- oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, that’s really rude of me,” Goro winced, holding his umbrella out slightly so Takamaki could slip underneath without having to get too close, “Kurusu Akira.”

“Takamaki Ann,” Takamaki returned, slipping under the umbrella. There was a notable bit of space between them, which was fine by Goro. He started walking, slowly, trying to keep them both sheltered, and started scanning the street again. Right, that was one blond down, another one to go… 

“It’s nice to meet you, Takamaki-san,” Goro said in full autopilot. The Detective Prince persona didn’t really fit right on Akira’s face or tone, but he adjusted it enough to work. He just had to be polite and doe-eyed -  _ without _ the glasses, Goro refused to wear them - and try and charm the school to think he could do no wrong… or at least stay out of his way. He could spend a few weeks as Akira without stabbing someone in anger, he was sure. 

“You too…” Takamaki said, then, “Uhm, so, why’d you transfer here? From the country, I mean?”

Did the students already know about his delinquent status, or did that come after, when Akira was at loggerheads with Kamoshida? Goro hesitated, unsure whether to be entirely truthful or not, and decided to go with the semi-truth, “Ah. Well, family issues. Nothing too serious.”

As expected, Takamaki backed off immediately, “Oh, that sucks…” 

“Mm.”

An awkward silence threatened to loom. Goro fought against the urge to fidget. 

_ where the hell is sakamoto? show up already you fucking slowass- _

“Hey!”

Goro never thought there’d be a day where he’d be so fucking relieved to hear  _ Sakamoto _ of all people. Beside him Takamaki groaned quietly, and they both turned to see a thoroughly soaked and grumpy blond run up to them, panting heavily from what seemed to be a fast sprint. His expression was mulish and distrustful. 

“Who’re you?” Sakamoto asked him grumpily, his eyes darting between Goro and Takamaki. 

“Kurusu Akira, transfer student,” Goro greeted him, making sure to sound uncertain, “Uhm, sorry, are you two siblings or…?”

_ “No,” _ Takamaki shot down immediately while Sakamoto spluttered, “We just know each other from middle school. What do you want, Sakamoto?”

“I was just checkin’ up on ya,'' Sakamoto grumbled, kicking at a small puddle near his feet, “Kamoshida was skulking around like a shark back there, lookin’ for you. So…”

Takamaki was immediately tense beside him, her jaw clenching as she all but throttled her bag strap between her hands. Goro looked slowly between her and a sour looking Sakamoto, before beyond to the street they had left behind. Kamoshida, the first victim - a vile rapist. 

Well, Goro knew better than to let stick around. 

“Should we…?” he asked, gesturing slightly with his umbrella. Takamaki thankfully got the hint and nodded jerkily. 

They started walking again: him and Takamaki under the umbrella, and a soaked Sakamoto beside them. The blond ruffian kept giving him suspicious looks, like he expected Goro to start groping Takamaki the second he was left unsupervised. This wasn’t how the three of them first met,  _ surely, _ with this much suspicion and hostility. 

_ am i already fucking things up? _ Goro thought irritably. 

“I’m not a fan of you glaring at me like that,” he finally said, catching Sakamoto’s gaze and giving him a flat, unimpressed stare. 

“M’not  _ glarin’,” _ Sakamoto instantly protested, “Just wonderin’ who you  _ are.” _

“Stop being rude, Sakamoto,” Takamaki sniffed, “Kurusu’s been nothing but polite to me, okay?”

“I dunno, guys tend to be polite until they get what they want…”

Oh for- “I like men,” Goro blurted, deciding to bury  _ that _ potential problem  _ now  _ before it drew breath, “I’m sure Takamaki is a lovely lady but I have no interest.” 

There was a bit of a stunned silence where both Takamaki and Sakamoto stared at him like he grew a second head. 

“Um,  _ oh, _ okay. That was  _ forward,” _ Sakamoto said, and scrunched his face up a little in thought, “Wait, are you interested in me?”

“No,” Goro said very emphatically. 

“Why not?” Sakamoto asked, sounding genuinely insulted at how quickly Goro had responded, “I’m a real catch! Right, Takamaki?”

Takamaki let out an ugly snort, “Uh, I can name  _ several _ guys of higher quality than you.”

It was time to throw Akira under the bus, “I already have a boyfriend, thank you,” he lied through his teeth, “But even then… you’re not my type, Sakamoto-kun.” 

“Hm,” Sakamoto sniffed, “Well, you’re not my type either. So, I guess it works out.”

Takamaki muttered something that sounded like  _ ‘boys’ _ under her breath. 

“Least you’re not another Kamoshida,” Sakamoto continued with a sneer as they turned into a narrow alleyway that forced Goro to close his umbrella, “That pervert thinks he’s the king of his personal castle, creepin’ on every girl he comes across.”

_ bingo.  _

“Castle?” Goro asked cluelessly. 

“He’s talking about Shujin Academy,” Takamaki said tiredly, “He’s our PE teacher.”

“He’s a real piece of work, is what he is,” Sakamoto began, winding up for a rant, “He’s-”

The world rippled. 

It was only through sheer experience that Goro recognised the sensation of a Metaverse entry. It was surprisingly subtle, an indicator of a weak Palace, the colours of the street flaring and becoming almost neon, too bright, too much glare, the rain taking on a distorted static noise as it struck the ground. The air smelled of ozone. 

“Ow…” Takamaki suddenly grunted, clutching her head as Sakamoto let out a similar noise of pain, “Ugh, what…?”

“Are you two alright?” Goro asked, quickly checking them over. They survived the transition into the Metaverse well enough, already shaking off the brief pain from the entry. They were lucky it was such a weak Palace they entered - the air wasn’t leeching their strength fast enough to be noticeable or inconvenient. 

“F-Fine, I just… had a headache,” Takamaki said, shaking her head, “I guess it’s the rain.”

“I wanna go back to bed,” Sakamoto groaned, “Stupid school…”

Goro marvelled at how quickly they brushed off the strange moment, and how they didn’t notice anything odd around them as they continued down the narrow alleyway. Sakamoto was ahead of them leading away, the rainwater flashing pink and red at his heels. Takamaki didn’t notice - or if she did, said nothing. 

Goro could feel the prickle of an approaching Palace and narrowed his eyes as he suppressed the manifestation of his Metaverse outfit, his willpower overriding the Palace ruler’s. He saw flickers of blue light in the corner of his eye, but he remained in his Shujin uniform for now. 

It’d be awkward if he was exposed too quickly. 

“Whoa!” Sakamoto exclaimed in surprise when they exited the alleyway and onto the street where Shujin Academy was  _ supposed _ to be. Instead of a fairly dull, standard looking school, a towering Medieval castle loomed over them, stretching high into a bruised-coloured sky with pinkish purple clouds hanging low. The rain had stopped. 

“What… is this?” Takamaki asked in bewilderment, “A movie set?”

“Isn’t this where the school’s meant to be?” Sakamoto asked, and pointed at the large placard sitting beside the castle’s gates, “Look, it says there: ‘Shujin Academy’.” 

“I’m guessing this isn’t how it usually looks…?” Goro asked in mock-curiosity, tucking his collapsed umbrella back into his bag. 

“Uh, no,” Takamaki said, tugging at one of her pigtails, “It’s not.”

“Let’s go inside,” Sakamoto suggested, “Maybe we’ll find somethin’ out.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Goro stared as Sakamoto and Takamaki proceeded to amble inside of the Palace like it was perfectly normal. He belatedly followed them, absolutely amazed at how easily they rolled with the situation. No wonder they leapt feet first into the Metaverse with total gusto, if  _ this _ was their level of self-preservation. Completely insane, all of them. 

_ not like i’m any better, _ Goro admitted wryly.

There was no security or obstacles as they walked through the Palace’s front doors. It opened up into a large, ugly entrance hall, with far too much satin and gold plated chandeliers and furniture. Overlooking the gaudy monstrosity was a massive painting sitting on the stairs’ landing; a square-jawed man with dark, curly hair, encased in shining white armour with a background of glittering roses. It was utterly abhorrent. 

**_that’s_ ** _ kamoshida? _ Goro thought,  _ my god, you could kill a man with that fucking chin.  _

“That is the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen,” he remarked. 

Takamaki and Sakamoto followed his gaze, the latter letting out a loud, mocking snort; “Oh my  _ god. _ Is that Kamoshida?!”

“Are you kidding me?” Takamaki groaned, “Ugh, who commissioned  _ that?” _

The clanking of armour drew their attention, and Goro’s latent Navigator skills pinged an alarm. A group of Shadows were advancing, so pitifully weak they almost slipped under his notice. Frowning, he turned to see four Shadows disguised as knights marching up to them, their swords drawn and radiating hostile intent. Goro was not intimidated. 

_ total weaklings. boring, _ he mentally sighed. 

“Oh wow, is that a costume?” Sakamoto commented, taking a step forward - only to be hauled back by Takamaki snatching his arm. 

“Um, wait, something’s not right…” Takamaki said anxiously, clearly having more sense out of the two, “I don’t think these are students.”

“Quite right,” Goro said candidly, sidestepping around Sakamoto and Takamaki to stand a little in front of them. Last thing he needed was for one of them to skewer themselves on a sword by accident - Akira would never let him hear the end of it, “I think they’re… not friendly.”

“Huh?” Sakamoto frowned, “Then who’re they?”

“You, intruders!” the front Shadow barked, the group stopping just out of arm’s reach. They were wary, their gaze mostly fixed on Goro. Smart enough to know who’s the real predator in the room, “Who are you, and why have you invaded King Kamoshida’s castle?”

_ “King _ Kamoshida?” Takamaki repeated derisively, “Are you serious?”

“Like his ego needs to be any bigger,” Sakamoto grumbled, “Hey, what is this, some kind of creepy event that bastard arranged? Well, we ain’t playin’ it.”

“You dare insult our king?”

Goro  _ sighed. _

“Can you  _ not _ antagonise them, Sakamoto-kun?” he asked mildly, trying not to grind his teeth, “They’re armed.” 

“Dude, I bet they’re fake-” Sakamoto began, only to be cut off when the group of knights menacingly advanced, “Uh, right?”

The three of them slowly backed up, Goro realising they were being herded towards the nearest wall. Outwardly, he appeared nervous, but inwardly he was annoyed. Belatedly, he realised Akira never gave him a step-by-step recounting of how he awakened his Persona in the Palace. He only stated that it had been to save Sakamoto, and that not long afterwards he rescued Morgana as well from the prison cells.

If Goro ‘woke up’ his Persona here, they were too far from the cells for him to make up a plausible reason to penetrate deeper into the Palace to find some annoying stray - so, did that mean he had to allow them to be arrested? Shadows were notoriously unpredictable, though, and without knowing what influence Akira had or how he acted during their captivity, he had no idea what would happen if one of the Shadows lost its temper and decapitated Sakamoto or something ridiculous like that. 

_ hmm,  _ Goro thought,  _ i might have fucked up.  _

Well, in that case, he should-

“Wait,” one of the Shadows, the leader Goro was assuming due to his armour, pointed his sword at them - right at Takamaki, “Isn’t that Princess Ann?”

The Shadows paused while Sakamoto whispered;  _ “Princess Ann?” _

“It is! My lady!” the Shadow Knight’s tone switched from menacing to alarmed, “My apologies for not recognising you! Are these intruders kidnapping you!?”

“Uh, wha-” Takamaki blurted, looking thoroughly confused. 

“Kidnappers!”

“How vile!”

“You will pay with your blood for touching our Princess!”

“T-They’re not kidnappers!” Takamaki yelled over the shouting, “They’re- they’re my friends!”

“There’s no need to lie for them, my princess!” the lead knight bellowed, “We will rescue you! Knights, kill them!”

Ugh.

“Dude, what the  _ eff!?” _ Sakamoto shrieked as the knights began advancing with their swords raised high. Takamaki let out a panicked cry of  _ “no, don’t!” _ throwing herself to the front with her thin arms spread wide, as if to shield Sakamoto and himself from their wrath. He had to admit, he was grudgingly impressed by her thoughtless bravery. 

_ fuck it, _ Goro mentally sighed,  _ i’m doing it my way.  _

He ducked under Takamaki’s arm, ignoring her shocked gasp, and straightened up just as the lead knight bared down on him. Goro let his bag slide off his shoulder, shifting his leg back a fraction, and caught the Shadow’s sword arm by the wrist as it swung down, stopping the blade a mere inch from his skull. 

“What-?” the Shadow blurted. 

The thing about the Metaverse was that the manifestation of the cognitive armour wasn’t a requirement to access your abilities. In the Metaverse, as the Prince, the Black Mask, or even as a high school student, the monstrous strength Loki bestowed upon him translated into physical prowess. Akira’s body wasn’t as well-toned or trained as his own, but this was the Metaverse. The cognition ruled, and right now, Goro’s cognition about his own strength was absolute. 

He didn’t need a Persona or a Metaverse outfit to deal with these weaklings. They were below his notice. 

Hefting his weight, Goro yanked the knight forwards, slamming the heel of his free hand full force into the emotionless mask. It shattered instantly, his hand driving right into the empty cavern of its helmet, letting him tear the head off entirely and toss it aside as the knight’s body shuddered and dissolved into motes of ash. 

Instant kill. Bet Akira couldn’t do  _ that. _

Everyone froze. The three remaining Shadows stayed motionless, staring at the empty spot where the lead knight had been. Behind him, Goro could feel the weight of Takamaki and Sakamoto’s wide-eyed stares boring into his back, mute and bewildered. He shook out his hand, easing out the stinging aftershocks out of his wrist. 

Note to self: build up Akira’s physical strength because  _ wow, _ that shouldn’t have taken that much effort. 

“You should consider your next move carefully,” Goro told the Shadows pleasantly, and gave them one of Akira’s brilliant, absolutely lethal smiles. Combined with the dangerous glitter in his eyes, hinting at his barely leashed bloodlust, the effect was suitably threatening.

“Y-You won’t- won’t get away with this!” the Shadows yelled, but they backed away and fled, no doubt seeing the battle a lost cause. The pressure within the Palace increased to near painful levels, and he could faintly hear the fleeing Shadows crying for reinforcements. The Palace alert was reaching critical. 

“Wh- wh- what-” Takamaki stammered as Goro turned towards her. Behind her Sakamoto’s mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish. 

“We should go,” Goro said, still maintaining that smile. As if it had hypnotic qualities, both Takamaki and Sakamoto nodded mutely, letting Goro quickly usher them out of the Palace before it forcibly ejected them. For Metaverse users, it was highly unpleasant and painful, for normal people… well, he didn’t want to find out how badly they’d be injured. 

They weren’t stopped on their way out, and the Metaverse melted away as Goro tapped at the app on his phone covertly, depositing them right in front of the school gates. Judging by the lack of people, they were late, but neither of them seemed overly concerned with that right now. 

Slowly, Takamaki turned towards him and pointed a finger right at his nose; “What… what was that?”

“You- punched that guy and he… imploded,” Sakamoto said faintly. 

Goro rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how to deal with this. He didn’t have to give them an explanation, really, who would even believe them if they told anyone about the Palace? But he  _ did _ need them to join Akira’s stupid vigilante group, so they could get enough firepower to take down Shido, then coerce Maruki into switching their bodies back (because, obviously, it was that man’s fault somehow). 

“It’s difficult to explain…” he began awkwardly, “And it’s a long story.”

“Try me,” Takamaki said, her voice steely, “What was that place? Who were those-  _ things? _ King Kamoshida?  _ Princess Ann?!” _

“Yeah, that was sorta weird…” Sakamoto mumbled. 

Goro hesitated - and smiled, brightly and charismatically. Takamaki seemed blindsided by the gesture. 

Seriously. Akira’s smiles were  _ lethal. _

“How about you meet me for lunch on the school roof?” Goro said mildly, “I’ll explain everything then.” 

“Oh… okay,” Takamaki said dazedly, then scowled, “You better stick to that! Don’t try and squirm out of explaining stuff!”

“Yeah, we want an explanation!” Sakamoto seconded, nodding mulishly. 

“And you’ll get it,” Goro said soothingly, “It’s just, I think we’re late…”

There was a pause, and Takamaki checked her watch. She sucked in a loud, shocked gasp and promptly bolted up the stairs leading into the school, leaving him and Sakamoto behind - who, in comparison, didn’t seem overly bothered at being late. 

“Ugh, this is gonna be lame,” the blond grouched, and followed Takamaki at a far more sedate pace. Goro watched them leave. 

“Right,” he said to himself once he was alone, cracking his neck and taking his phone out again, “Now time for the cat…” 

* * *

Rescuing Morgana had been very straightforward. 

The cat had been trapped in the prison cell, and had been more than a little suspicious of him when realising he was a fellow Persona user of obvious experience and skill. Goro had made up some bullshit excuse of realising he could enter people’s hearts and change them for the better, though he was still figuring out how the whole treasure = desire thing worked, and Morgana offered to help him in his endeavour. 

“You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours,” Morgana’s deal had been, “I’ll teach you how to change people’s hearts, and you’ll help me get to the bottom of Mementos.” 

All in all, it had been the easiest deal Goro had ever struck. 

Just before noon, Goro left the Palace with a new companion in tow. Morgana had once again taken his rightful place in the Monabag, and Goro wondered if this was why Akira was always slouching and complaining of back pain. The cat was  _ heavy. _

“So, this is your school?” Morgana asked curiously as Goro strolled inside the building without a care for his tardiness, “Aren’t you late?”

“Very late,” Goro hummed, “But it’s fine.”

Thankfully, his lack of familiarity with the interior of Shujin helped sell his ‘I am very lost’ sob story when a passing teacher found him aimlessly roaming the corridors. After a swift and short scolding, he was sent to the faculty office, where Akira’s homeroom teacher, Kawakami, found him just as the bell for lunch rang. 

“Did you seriously get lost for this long?” Kawakami asked him, looking both exhausted and mildly irritated, “It’s lunchtime.”

“I’m sorry,” Goro said, mustering every ounce of acting skill he possessed to look like a kicked puppy, “Sakura-san drove me here yesterday, so the subway system confused me and I ended up in Kichijoji somehow…”

Kawakami sighed, massaging her temples, “You  _ are _ from the countryside… well, I’ll let it slide this once,” she decided, “If you’re still uncertain on how to get here via the trains,  _ ask someone. _ Geeze…”

After that very mild scolding and a gentle slap on the wrist, Kawakami shooed him out of the office to enjoy his lunch, with very pointed directions on where his class was. Goro had to bite down on a victorious grin at his success. Charming people was so ridiculously easy as Akira! 

However…

“Is that the transfer student?”

“He’s so late…”

“Did you hear that he’s a violent criminal?”

“I heard he did drugs! Sold them!”

“I heard he led a gang! Turns out, he stabbed a guy and-”

“Why’d they let someone like  _ that _ in here?! How’re we meant to learn anything if-”

“What if he goes crazy and starts attacking everyone!?”

The rumours were out in full force. 

But, sticks and stones. Goro kept his head up high, his gaze heavy-lidded as he swept through the corridors towards the roof. People leapt out of his way like he had leprosy, their eyes wide and fearful, turning away with their hands covering their mouths, as if that would muffle the lies they so gleefully exchanged with each other. It was… aggravating. Did they know how stupid they sounded? How ridiculous and mindless?

_ did akira have to deal with this all year? _

Goro felt uncomfortable at the thought, though he quickly buried the feeling. It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t, Akira will soon understand how it felt to be thoroughly  _ adored, _ thanks to Goro’s insane and fanatic admirers. Akira would wish he could go back to this distant, fearful isolation after getting stalked or had body hair mailed to him. 

He went up the stairs, exiting out into the roof and sighing when he saw it empty. Maybe Sakamoto and Takamaki thought better about approaching him. 

“Wow,” Morgana piped out, wriggling free of the bag and hopping onto the table set up on the roof, “Are all those rumours about you true?”

“No,” Goro said dully, kicking a chair out and collapsing into it, “Well, some of them.”

He was a murderer, after all, a cheat, a backstabber, a violent criminal who didn’t care who he trampled so long as he achieved his goals. But Akira? He was an asshole who was stupidly perfect in every way, but he… didn’t deserve those rumours about him, at all. He’ll have to do something about it. 

_ maybe i should take over the school, _ he thought idly, leaning back on his chair and frowning at the sky,  _ rule it with an iron fist… after ousting kamoshida, of course.  _

He’ll think about it. 

“Which ones?” Morgana asked, and it took him a second to understand. 

“I am on probation,” Goro said, “But I was framed for a crime I did not commit. I was protecting someone from being assaulted, but unfortunately the man I stopped had friends in high places amongst the police. I got screwed.”

“Oh…” It was clear Morgana didn’t fully understand, being a cat and all, but he understood enough, “That’s horrible. You were doing something good, and got punished for it.”

“That’s society,” Goro said with grim amusement. 

They lapsed into a tense silence. Morgana was studying him curiously, his tail flicking from side to side. He and Akira had been bosom buddies, but Goro honestly had no idea how to go about imitating that relationship. He didn’t like sharing his space or thoughts with another person, and the idea of keeping Morgana on him for almost 24/7 made him want to scream. He couldn’t -  _ wouldn’t _ \- do it. 

_ maybe we can share custody, _ Goro thought,  _ akira can claim him. maybe morgana could act as his personal assistant. _

And… wasn’t that a thought? What would happen, if Akira as the Detective Prince joined them early…?

_ hmmm, _ Goro frowned at the table,  _ that might work… _

He took out his phone, intending to call his partner-in-crime, when the door to the roof opened. Sakamoto and Takamaki entered, looking cautious and uncertain as they walked towards him. Morgana glanced at him, and he tilted his head, indicating he should stay. 

“Uh, hey,” Takamaki opened with, her gaze settling on the cat. 

“You’re here for the explanation, I assume?” Goro asked mildly, “In which case, allow me to introduce Morgana: he can field whatever questions you may have about Palaces and Shadows, as well as how they can be used for the betterment of society.”

Sakamoto blinked, “Uh, that’s a cat.”

“I’m not a cat!” Morgana huffed, causing Sakamoto and Takamaki to jump in surprise, “The name’s  _ Morgana, _ or Mona for short.”

“You… you just talked?” Takamaki breathed, her voice high-pitched. 

Morgana glanced at her, doing a slight doubletake. Goro eyed him warily, hoping he wasn’t about to openly simp in front of Takamaki, but the cat just seemed more curious than anything, blinking his large, blue eyes up at the girl as he said, in a less antagonistic tone, “I talked. Is that a problem?”

“No! No, just… I was just surprised,” Takamaki said, and grabbed a spare chair, sitting heavily in it, “The cat just talked. Okay. Okay,  _ fine.” _

“Man, I feel like I’m in a manga or something,” Sakamoto groaned, scruffing a hand through his head, “What is  _ going _ on?”

“Allow me to explain!” Morgana said smugly, his little chest puffing out with self-importance as he launched into a well-structured explanation about Palaces, Shadows, Desires and Persona. It was part of the deal he and Morgana struck - to divert some suspicion off of Goro, Morgana was the one who was going to play along as if he and Goro had met before and were in the beginning stages of their ‘Phantom Thieves’ gig when Takamaki and Sakamoto got dragged in. 

It was a rough deal, and Morgana had seemed more than a little suspicious of him, but the cat  _ really _ wanted to get to the bottom of Mementos, and Goro was certain that suspicion would die away the more he helped him in his endeavour. It was a good deal. Both of their backs were scratched, and Morgana was surprisingly a very pragmatic individual. 

With Takamaki and Sakamoto enraptured by Mona, Goro took the opportunity to message Akira. 

**_Crow:_ ** _ everything’s working out on my end _

**_Crow:_ ** _ you? _

It took five agonisingly long minutes before Akira messaged him back: 

**_Joker:_ ** _ i hate everything about you right now _

**_Joker:_ ** _ i just had to bluff my way through a meeting with sae _

**_Joker:_ ** _ SAE _

Goro couldn’t help it; he smirked. 

**_Crow:_ ** _ ah yes, do make sure to brush up on your prosecution law and investigation skills  _

**_Crow:_ ** _ luckily for you, sae’s palace should be starting to interfere with her rationality right now  _

**_Crow:_ ** _ so she may not notice your uncharacteristic incompetency regarding the mental shutdown cases _

**_Joker:_ ** _ why did you have to be such an overachiever???  _

Goro chuckled quietly, amused at Akira’s uncharacteristic agitation, and messaged; 

**_Crow:_ ** _ we need to talk _

**_Crow:_ ** _ meet me at leblanc after school _

**_Crow:_ ** _ don’t come as detective prince _

**_Joker:_ ** _ got it _

**_Joker:_ ** _ i really need a coffee anyway _

Goro stowed his phone after that, musing on the strangeness that would be coffee without Akira making it. He’s certain Sakura-san would have more than a few choice words from a random customer going behind his counter to make himself coffee. In fact, this time it would be  _ Goro _ having to learn how to… 

He grimaced and squelched that thought. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

His gaze settled on the three he was minding, his grimace settling into a deeper frown. In fact, there were multiple disasters waiting to implode on them. This had already turned into a mess… 

Goro sighed. 

No choice but to keep pushing forward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp


	5. Day Two - After School

Being Akechi was absolute hell. 

Akira came to this conclusion in the comforting darkness of the school’s cleaning closet. Why was he in a closet? Because it was the last place anyone would look for Akechi “Detective Prince” Goro, cowering amongst the mops and acrid smelling cleaning products while packs of admirers roamed the halls. How the _fuck_ Akechi managed to get _anywhere_ in this hellhole of a school, he didn’t know, what with having to fight his way through sycophants and nosy students alike on a near _hourly_ basis. 

_“Ohh, Akechi-kun, you’re so smart! Do you do tutoring, because, um, I’m free most nights-”_

_“Hey, Akechi-kun, I’m hoping to be a model and, uh, you know people in the entertainment business, right? So, could you-”_

_“Could I have your autograph-”_

_“I made a fanblog about you, please visit it-!”_

_“Hey, hey, come hang out with us today-!”_

_“Please go out with me-!”_

It. Was. _Relentless._

That wasn’t even the worst of it. 

Akira’s phone buzzed, the screen flashing with _“SAE - MEETING - 1200 - CHEAP SUSHI”._

Being a Detective Prince meant _actually playing detective._

“I’m so _fucked,”_ Akira groaned, rummaging through Akechi’s stupid briefcase. He was sitting on the floor, the briefcase resting on a squat stool, turning the closet into his pseudo-office as he glumly read over the immaculate and well-organised notes and case files Akechikept. Akira barely understood half of it. He had no idea what he was doing - he didn’t know _how he was going to pull this off._

And he had to meet Sae in less than an hour. 

Akira irritably shoved the notes and case files back into the briefcase, slamming it shut, and pressed his forehead against his knees. He felt exposed without his glasses, he felt _vulnerable_ having to keep his back straight and his head held high, that vapid fake smile on his face. Akechi had all but threatened him at knife point to maintain the facade - at least until they were in a good position to shove Shido off his pedestal without him retaliating. And that meant - fake smiles, maintaining that awful Detective Prince persona, being trapped in the spotlight and everyone staring hungrily at him with eyes that dissected every _molecule_ of him. 

Who the hell wanted to be famous when it ended up like _this?_

Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. 

The worst of it was _Shido._

Hearing that man’s voice still made Akira’s stomach knot and heave, a twisted barb of hatred and nausea tearing his insides to shreds. Unfortunately for him, Shido had him on speed dial, and just before school Akira had to endure his rasping, slimy voice _congratulating him_ on a job well done, and to keep himself _available_ for _further tasking._

It had taken every scrap of willpower not to snap Akechi’s phone with his trembling grip alone. 

Akira roughly tugged his gloved fingers through his hair, grimacing when he snagged them on some knots. Akechi’s hair, he found, was actually a nightmare to deal with. Akira was used to just… leaving his hair alone, maybe cutting it once in a while when it got too long. Akechi’s needed fucking _babysitting,_ with regular brushing and high-end hair products ensuring it stayed silky smooth and soft. 

_i bet he gets split ends a lot,_ Akira thought wryly, grabbing a loose lock of hair and scrutinising the ends closely, _his hair is so fine…_

A noise outside the closet made him flinch, and he stayed still, holding his breath as muffled voices talked in front of his hiding spot before drifting away. It was almost lunch time. He should get out of here before people witnessed Akechi slinking out of a cleaner’s closet for no good reason. 

“I hate this,” Akira muttered under his breath, standing up and picking up his briefcase, “Absolutely _hate it.”_

He couldn’t wait to switch back. 

* * *

Honestly, Akira could have cried the moment he laid eyes on Leblanc. 

He hesitated before entering though, ensuring his disguise was well in place. He was dressed in a simple dark hoodie and faded jeans, and he even purchased a pair of fake glasses, just for familiarity’s sake, letting them shelter him from the worst of the world. When he looked at his reflection in a nearby shop front, he barely resembled the renowned Akechi Goro at all. 

He looked like an aggressive nerd. 

Wine-coloured eyes scrutinised him, and Akira tilted his head this way and that, examining Akechi’s face with interest. Fake smiles didn’t suit him at all, and frowns and grimaces came easier, but…

Akira let his expression soften, the corners of his mouth curving up into a small, private smile. It was downright _adorable_ and _lovely,_ and Akira had to quickly stop because it made him feel weird to witness. 

_whoa,_ Akira thought in a daze, walking towards Leblanc, _akechi has a pretty smile when he does it right._

Leblanc’s bell rang sweetly with familiarity as he entered his home, a sharp twinge of longing piercing his sternum at the realisation - this _wasn’t_ his home right now. It was Akechi’s. Akechi… who was seated at the booth with a homework book out _(did akira have homework on his first day?),_ his head propped up with his cheek resting against his upturned palm, his eyes heavy-lidded and posture thoroughly relaxed as he quickly worked through whatever work he was doing. 

Boss looked up from where he’d been doing his crossword puzzle, asking gruffly; “You a customer?”

“Uh,” the dismissive indifference from Boss made him feel wrong-footed - which was _stupid,_ of course Boss didn’t know who he was right now… don’t take it personally, “Um, yeah. Kind of. I’m here to see, uh, Akira?”

“Oh, is that you, Goro?” Akechi said, looking up from his work and - smiled. 

It was… _weird,_ to see that bright, sunny expression on his _own face._ Akira stayed rooted to the spot as he nodded jerkily, glancing between Boss and Akechi and hoping his glasses hid most of his bewilderment, “Um, yeah. I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”

Weird. Weird, weird, _weird._

“So, this is the friend you’re waiting for,” Boss said, sounding mildly suspicious, “First you bring home a cat-”

 _already!?_ Akira thought in alarm. Mona wasn’t supposed to join until a few days later!

“-and now a random friend? Wasn’t today your _first_ day at school?”

“I’ve known Goro for some time,” Akechi said truthfully, his smile turning crooked as he gathered up his things and stowed them in his bag, “He’s an online friend that lives in Tokyo.”

“Hmm,” Boss hummed suspiciously.

“Do you mind if we go for a walk, Sakura-san?”

“I told you to call me Boss,” Boss sighed, but he waved him off, “Yeah, yeah, stay out of trouble - and come back before it gets dark, you hear? Remember, you’re still on probation.”

“Of course,” Akechi said sunnily, and it seemed his sweet, open smile thawed Boss out faster than Akira had ever done in the past. The older man just harrumphed and went back to his crosswords. 

They left Leblanc, and once they were a safe distance from the cafe Akira slowly turned to his partner-in-crime and stared at him. 

“What?” Akechi asked defensively. 

“What were you doing with my _face?”_

“Smiling?” Akechi looked genuinely confused, “If you think I’m sticking to your ridiculous stoicism, think again. Your smile is powerful, Kurusu. Of course I weaponised that shit.”

Akechi… _weaponised_ his _smile._

…

Of course he did. 

“You’re… adapting really well to this,” Akira observed, unable to keep the jealousy out of his voice. 

“To be fair, I have it far easier than you,” Akechi admitted with a smug little smile, “No one knows you here, do they? Therefore, I can act however I please. You, on the other hand, have a very strict role to play with little room to mess up. How did you find today, by the way?”

“Terrible,” Akira answered immediately, “Absolutely _god awful-”_

“Oh, come now-”

“Why do you have cram school?” Akira whined, clutching at Akechi’s arm and giving it a shake, “Meetings with Sae over lunch? The sushi wasn’t even worth it!”

“Ah, you have experienced Sae-san’s infamous stinginess,” Akechi said with mock-sympathy, “I know it well. My sympathies.” 

“And I had to speak to Shido today,” Akira continued, letting go of Akechi’s arm, “That- ugh. He’s actual slime in human form. I felt like I needed to disinfect my _ear_ after listening to him talk on the phone.” 

“Again,” Akechi said, his voice dry as dust, “My sympathies.” 

Akira lapsed into silence and they continued to walk. They almost completed a full circuit of Yongen-jaya in companionable silence before he admitted quietly, “I don’t think I can do this, Akechi.”

Akechi stopped and gripped his arm, tugging him out of the way of the foot traffic. They stood beneath the awning of a closed shop, and when Akira shamefully turned to him, Akechi’s expression was firm. His own face was firm, determined - Joker, Akira couldn’t help but think. 

“Akira,” Akechi said with startling gentleness, “How long do you think you _can_ keep it up?”

Personally, Akira felt like he’d be lucky to keep it up for a _week,_ but… “A few months, maybe…”

Akechi studied him for a moment, “Are you sure?”

“Well,” Akira exhaled shakily, “I can try?”

“I ask because I have an idea,” Akechi continued, his gaze still intent on him, “If we speed run this, we can deal with Shido far earlier.”

“Did you seriously use the term _speed run-”_

“Akira,” Akechi shook him a little, _“Listen._ We know who the other members of your stupid vigilante group are. We can just… accelerate their joining, train them up a little inside Mementos, and smash through Shido’s Palace. The faster he is out of the equation, the more we can focus on the _real_ problem.”

“Our bodies,” Akira confirmed. 

“Well, yes, that and the ‘god of control’ you said was behind the Metaverse,” Akechi said, his expression flattening when Akira blinked at him, “Did you seriously forget about that?”

“Uh, well, between Maruki’s false reality and all this…”

“Are you _kidding me?”_

“Look! A lot has happened-”

“Were your last remaining brain cells kicked out of your skull when you landed in my body?!” Akechi snapped.

“In my defence, Yaldy came out of nowhere and left just as quickly,” Akira grumbled, “He was pretending to be-” He stopped. 

“What?” Akechi frowned at him, “Pretended to be what?”

_Igor._

That raised the question, didn’t it? _Who_ was the Wildcard in this scenario? Would Yaldabaoth, under the guise of Igor, approach Akechi as Akira, or Akira as Akechi? If he chose Akechi, would Akechi appear as _himself_ or as Akira, considering it was all cognitive bullshit nonsense in the Velvet Room? Was Yaldabaoth even aware of the switch? What if he was? What if he _wasn’t?_

“Goro,” Akira said very quietly, “Do you know Igor?”

“Who?” Akechi asked, looking extremely confused, “Who the hell is Igor?”

So, Akechi hasn’t been pulled into the Velvet Room yet - and neither had Akira in this timeline. 

“Okay, so,” Akira paused, trying to think on how to explain the Velvet Room without Akechi thinking he was batshit insane, “There’s a room in the, uh, boundary between the consciousness and unconsciousness, where I fuse my Persona, and it’s overseen by a man with a long nose called Igor, who was actually Yaldy because he imprisoned the _real_ Igor, and a pair of psychotic twins who were actually one person that Yaldy split into two. Her name’s Lavenza and she’s very lovely… when she doesn’t have the chainsaw out…”

Akechi gave him a very long, unreadable look. 

“...alright,” he finally said, “Fine. It’s not the craziest thing to happen. So, you’re wondering if Yaldabaoth is still impersonating this ‘Igor’, or if it is the real one.”

“The Velvet Room kind of… exists in its own little… dimension thingie,” Akira explained poorly, “So… yeah.” 

“How do you get to this room?” Akechi asked him, his tone becoming brisk. His gaze was slightly fixed past Akira’s shoulder, his eyes narrowed and calculating. He was thinking of a plan. 

“Sometimes I get pulled in in my sleep,” Akira said, “But normally there’s a blue door that leads to it at the entrance to Palaces or in Shibuya, near the Airsoft shop.”

“I didn’t see a blue door in Kamoshida’s Palace today,” Akechi frowned. 

“It didn’t turn up for a few days,” Akira said slowly, trying to remember, “Yeah, I think it was after Ann awakened her Persona…”

Akechi blinked at him, “She didn’t awaken it with you?”

“Huh? No, no… uh, I did first, then Ryuji the next day, then I think Ann… two days after that- why are you looking at me like that.”

Akechi’s expression had gone utterly blank. 

“Ah,” his partner-in-crime said, “Hm.”

“...what did you do, Goro?” Akira groaned. 

“N-Nothing! I- you never told me they were days apart from you!” Akechi snapped, clearly flustered. His cheeks flushed a pale pink, and Akira _marvelled_ \- he didn’t know his face could _look_ that embarrassed, “You said they were there from the beginning!”

“They were! But, like, days after the beginning…”

“Oh my _god,"_ Akechi covered his face with his hands, “I brought them both in _today_ and told them I’d awaken their Persona _tomorrow-”_

“Wait, you told them what- what even happened in Kamoshida’s Palace?”

Akechi squirmed in place, “I led them into the Palace in the same manner you did, making it look as if it was by accident, but the Shadows recognised Takamaki as ‘Princess Ann’, Kamoshida’s cognition of her, I’m guessing, and became agitated.”

“Oh no,” Akira said, already seeing where this was going. 

“They were preparing to kill myself and Sakamoto in a misguided attempt to save Takamaki, so I… hm, well…”

“You killed the Shadows.”

“I killed the Shadows.” 

They stared at each other for a bit, Akechi peeking at him from between his fingers, his cheeks still pink. Akira couldn’t help it - he _laughed._

“Don’t laugh at me!” Akechi hissed, punching his arm, “What else was I to do?! Let them decapitate Sakamoto!?” 

“No! No, no, I mean, I’m very happy you saved Ryuji,” Akira coughed, cringing away when Akechi punched his arm again, “It’s just- you couldn’t fake an awakening there or something? Did you even _summon_ your Persona?”

Akechi gave him a disgusted look, “They weren’t worth the effort. I killed it in one punch.” 

“Oh my _god,”_ Akira said. 

“Speaking of which,” Akechi’s eyes narrowed at him, “I am _unhappy_ with the condition of this body.” 

Akira paused, looking his partner-in-crime up and down. Akechi was still dressed in the Shujin uniform, but Akira thought he looked fine. Sure, he wasn’t as… well-toned or muscular as Akechi, a fact Akira was uncomfortably aware of after a highly awkward shower, but he wasn’t _that_ unfit. He could jog, like, two hundred metres or something. 

“Sorry I don’t pump iron like you apparently do,” Akira grouched, and flexed his arm pointedly. Even through the fabric of his hoodie, the muscle was apparent, “Where the hell did _these_ come from!?”

“I do bouldering, idiot,” Akechi huffed, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop flexing, “Also, regularly fighting Shadows and infiltrating Palaces is a _wonderful_ fat burner.”

“Yeah, you’d know all about that, huh?” 

“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” Akechi said testily, “But your physical condition has a direct impact on your Metaverse capabilities. The stronger you are in real life, the stronger in the Metaverse. The draining effect is considerably lessened as well. How else was I able to do back-to-back excursions within the Metaverse when I was part of your group in November?”

Akira paused. He… hadn’t considered that. 

“What I’m saying is don’t get complacent,” Akechi huffed, “I worked hard for that physique. The least you could do is _maintain it._ In return I will, ugh, strengthen your body.”

“Will you give me washboard abs?” Akira asked curiously, peering around them before lifting his hoodie shirt to expose his - well, Akechi’s - firm, well-toned abs, “Because these look pretty nice-”

 _“Don’t flash people,”_ Akechi hissed, wrenching his hoodie back down, “And yes, _fine,_ whatever.”

Akira smiled brightly. He always hated doing core exercises. 

Akechi stared at him for a moment before scrunching his nose. It was, weirdly, a cute look - which Akira wasn’t going to think about because he just called _himself_ cute and- whatever.

“What are you doing with my face?” Akechi grumbled. 

“Smiling?” Akira said innocently, letting his smile widen into a shit-eating Joker grin, “You know, your favourite thing to do?”

“You make it look… weird on my face,” Akechi complained. 

“Because it’s genuine.”

“Fuck off.”

They started walking again, the mood considerably more relaxed now. That pervasive, suffocating anxiety that had throttled Akira’s every step to Leblanc had lessened to barely anything. They barely discussed their plan, or whatever plan Akechi had cooking up in that crazy little head of his, but the fact that he had _someone_ to share the burden with was reassuring in a way he couldn’t explain. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Akechi said, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

...nevermind. 

“I’m sorry- _what?”_

“Boyfriend,” Akechi repeated, like Akira was a bit slow, “I mentioned to Takamaki and Sakamoto that I was taken and had a boyfriend- don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t getting dragged into their weird love triangle nonsense.”

“Love tria- _what_ love triangle?” Akira had been in a love triangle?

Akechi ignored him, “It was said spur of the moment, but thinking on it, it’s a good idea for you.”

“Really?” Akira drawled, “How so?”

“We will need to be in frequent communication with each other,” Akechi explained, “It will not escape Shido’s notice, especially once the Phantom Thieves begin involving themselves in his business. However, if you meet me like this, in incognito, and we go on fake dates…”

“Shido will think I’m hiding a boyfriend,” Akira said in realisation, “Which, considering you’re- _I’m_ a celebrity right now…”

“It’s not anything suspicious, really,” Akechi said dismissively, “Me, hiding a forbidden boyfriend from my fans? He’ll probably mock you for it, and attempt to use it as leverage, but he wouldn’t investigate any further into it. He’s… arrogant, like that.” 

It was a good idea, but…

“That’s… it’s gonna be weird,” Akira admitted, “I mean, you have my face and… isn’t it like narcissism?” 

Akechi rolled his eyes, “We won’t have to actually _do anything,_ Akira. We can be _chaste,_ if you’d like.” 

Akira huffed, “Well, excuse me for thinking making out with myself is weird.”

“But I’m not you, am I?” Akechi purred, his expression becoming devious as he levelled a sharp smile his way. It was pure Joker, but also not, Akechi’s grey eyes glittering with a predatory light that gave Akira confusing goosebumps, “I’m _me._ No matter whose face I’m wearing, I’m still me.” 

“...right,” Akira said hoarsely, “Um, okay.” 

“Don’t forget that,” Akechi murmured. 

The silence between them after that wasn’t awkward, but it was certainly _charged._ Akira found himself peeking at Akechi from the corner of his eye, taking in how he walked with his back straight and head held high, his gaze heavy-lidded and confident. It drew looks - looks that skipped over Akira’s too-large glasses, bowed head and slouching frame, subconsciously fending off any lingering attention in case someone saw through his disguise. 

They were still themselves, no matter whose faces they wore. 

They finally stopped outside of Leblanc, and Akechi gazed thoughtfully at the cafe before turning back to him, “Anyway, do you wish to share custody of Morgana?”

“What is he, our child?” Akira deadpanned. 

“He might as well be,” Akechi grumbled, “He needs as much attention as one.” 

Truthfully, Akira would _love_ to have Morgana. He was like one of his vital organs at this point, and a part of him wondered if he could get away with telling his faithful companion about the whole - travelling back in time and switching bodies thing. Morgana would accept it, right? Morgana would still be his friend… right?

“Would he… want to come back with me?” Akira asked, his voice fragile with hope. 

Akechi visibly bit back his first response, chewing over his words before saying, “In the right… circumstances. We may need to manufacture your early entry into the group.”

“As your boyfriend?” 

Akechi waved a hand, “We’ll figure out the details later. I think we should deal with Kamoshida on our own first - perhaps after that?”

Akira deftly hid his disappointment, but it made sense. Why would Detective Prince Akechi Goro join them in their vigilantism with _Kamoshida,_ “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Don’t pout,” Akechi chided him, nudging his shoulder, “It looks awful on my face.”

Akira pouted even harder. 

“Brat,” Akechi sighed, “Go home, Akira. I’m certain you have work to catch up on.”

“Don’t remind me,” Akira sighed, “But you’re right. It’s getting dark, too. We don’t want Boss stringing you up by your ankles for defying _curfew~”_

Akechi gave him a sour look, no doubt rankled at being given a _curfew_ of all things, but he valiantly held in his insults. Instead he said; “Get out of my life.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” Akira jeered, and blew his partner-in-crime a kiss. Akechi didn’t even acknowledge it, just rolled his eyes and turned away, entering Leblanc. The door swung shut behind him, and Akira was alone in the middle of the street, the warmth and relaxation Akechi had brought vanishing like smoke. 

He wanted to stay. 

Akira stared longingly at the cafe before forcing himself to turn away. It wasn’t his home anymore - for now. 

For now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can finally use the fake dating tag. 
> 
> in other news why is bodyswap romance so hot


End file.
